


The Truth of Scars

by Eledhwen



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence from Kinbaku, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Hand waving the Hand, Identity Reveal, Not many ninjas, Porn With Plot, Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-20 09:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: “Come upstairs,” Karen whispers, and he does.A "what if" from the scene on the steps of Karen's apartment in S02 E05 'Kinbaku'. Matt goes upstairs with her, and it changes everything ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a few weeks ago, got halfway, stopped, and finally managed to finish it. It's not supposed to be a season 2 fix-it or anything because I liked season 2, but I wanted to see what could happen if Matt and Karen went somewhere rather than having a date and then Elektra bulldozing her way into the middle of things and distracting Matt. Bits of it you'll recognise, because I did stick to canon where it made sense - primarily along most of the Castle arc, albeit with differences. 
> 
> Plan is to post a chapter a day; there are four long ones and a short epiloguey one.

“Come upstairs,” Karen whispers, and he does.

She tastes of the curry they ate and the wine they drank, and smells of spices and arousal. He knows from her heartbeat and the heat of her skin and the smell of her, as she leads him up the stairs, that she’s already wet for him.

They fall into her apartment, Karen laughing, Matt dropping his folded cane on the floor as they close the door and she leans in for another kiss. He reaches out, pushes up her skirt, finds her panties and slides a finger in and she’s slick and hot around him.

“Yes?” he asks, and “yes,” she sighs into his ear, moving on to his hand, against him.

He lifts her, and with only minimal bumping into furniture finds her bedroom. She grumbles when he takes his hand away, but lifts her hips so he can rip the panties off (cotton, cheap, simple) and reaches forward to help him unzip and push his boxers down.

“Condom?” he asks, and she fumbles in a drawer, rips the package and slides it on to him before guiding him in.

Time and feeling collapse into their coupling and they come together, Karen arching underneath him and crying out as he sighs his own release into her neck.

Afterwards, they get undressed properly, and take their time. He moves down her body, exploring with tongue and fingers and bringing her off with both. She rides him as he clasps her to him, his hands gripping her backside and urging her on.

Finally they collapse, side by side, sated. “Wow,” Karen says, and laughs.

Matt circles a nipple with his finger; it hardens, but she bats his hand away. “I’m done,” she says, and sits up. He flops back. For a second there is silence, and then there’s the background buzz of electricity as the bedside light comes on, and a gasp from Karen.

“Jesus, Matt,” she says, and the bed moves as she turns back to him and runs a hand over his chest, her palm skating over his scars. “Is this all from your accident?”

“Which accident?” he asks, but he feels chilled, knowing that the magic of the evening is about to die.

“The car accident, last year. When you missed a bunch of work.” He can feel her gaze running over the marks and lingering on the rough, deep scar from Nobu’s knives, the one which nearly took his gut out.

He wonders if he can style this out, and then makes a decision. They’ve shared too much, this night. Telling Foggy the truth seems to have settled their relationship – it’s time to stop lying to Karen.

Matt sits up, and turns to face Karen. He can’t meet her gaze, but he can do his best to show he’s trying. “It wasn’t a car accident,” he says. “And I haven’t been falling over a lot.”

She moves, and pulls up the sheets around herself. “I … what? Matt?”

He takes a deep breath. “Karen, I’m Daredevil.”

There is silence in the room. Her heartbeat has accelerated, and he can sense the adrenaline coursing through her. Then she laughs.

“You can’t be Daredevil. I’ve seen him fight.”

“Yeah, I know. When you sneaked out of my place that first night,” Matt says. “I followed. Was trying to keep an eye on you. Well, you know what I mean.”

Karen reaches out a hand, cupping his cheek. “Matt, you’re _blind_.”

“I can’t see,” he corrects her, gently. “Not with my eyes. But my senses are – well, I think enhanced is the word they’re using, these days.” He takes her hand, and puts it over his heart. “Feel my heartbeat. Feel how steady it is. Karen, I’m not lying to you. Not anymore. I’ve kept this from you too long.”

She snatches her hand away, and gets out of bed, clutching the sheet.

“You saved my life,” she says, and he nods. “And yesterday, did Brett Mahoney really catch the Punisher?”

“Not so much,” Matt admits. He waits, listening to her breathe, listening to her heartbeat, which is still more rapid than it ought to be. Suddenly she moves again, and there’s an object flying through the air. He catches it – it’s an alarm clock, aimed squarely at his head.

“Jesus,” Karen says, and then automatically, “sorry.” There is another pause. “How did you _do_ that?”

Matt holds out the alarm clock to her. “I could hear you move, and the air moves when something’s coming through it. And I think a battery’s loose in this, it kind of rattled.”

She takes the clock, putting it down again, and sits back on the bed. “You’re not joking, are you?”

He says nothing, because there is not much more to be said, on his part. He is waiting for her to begin the accusations of selfishness, the anger, the pain. He’s heard it all from Foggy and there is no reason why Karen shouldn’t express the same emotions.

“Does Foggy know?” she asks, but continues before he can reply. “Of course Foggy knows. That’s why you argued. What made you tell him?”

“I didn’t. He found out. Came round to my place the night this happened,” Matt indicates the Nobu scars, “and found me.”

“Oh my God, Matt,” Karen says. “He’s your _best friend_. You couldn’t even tell him?”

Matt twists the sheet in his hands, for something to do with them. “I was trying to protect him. You. Both of you.”

“So what changed, tonight?” she asks, and this is a fair question. He considers his answer.

“I wasn’t going to come up,” he says. “I was going to tell you that it had been a perfect evening, and I don’t get many of them, and I didn’t want to ruin it. But I wanted you so much. And then I couldn’t lie to you anymore. It wasn’t fair to you, not after …” he waves his hand, vaguely.

Karen shifts again, turning towards him. “If I hadn’t asked about the scars, would you have said anything?”

“Probably not,” Matt admits. He lets go of the sheet, swinging his legs out of the bed. There’s no way Karen will want him to stay, not now. He might still make that meeting Elektra wanted, although all his instincts are saying that too is a bad idea. “I should go.”

Karen takes his arm, and then hauls his legs back on to the bed and straddles them, pinning him down. “Maybe you should. Maybe you could.” She pauses. “Maybe I don’t want you to go.”

He listens to her body, and it tells the truth of her words. She doesn’t want him to go.

“I lied to you,” he says, again.

“And you shouldn’t have,” Karen says, sweeping a lock of his hair out of his eyes. “Or to Foggy. But I get why you thought you should. You thought we’d worry about you, or that we’d be angry that you’re running around the streets beating people up every night. And we will, and I am. But not enough to kick you out.”

She leans in and kisses him again. “Do you know I’ve been dreaming about Daredevil?” she says. “Only a bit, like a few nights a month. And not that costume, which looks ridiculous by the way, but the outfit you saved my life in?”

“Oh?” Matt can’t think of anything more coherent to say; his body is responding to Karen’s again.

“Well, man saves your life in a tight top and pants, it leaves an impression,” Karen says, and wriggles her hips upwards so she is not straddling his legs, but his crotch. Matt groans as his cock hardens. “Matt Murdock, you’re an idiot,” she adds, bending to kiss him, her breasts brushing his chest. “I won’t forgive you for lying to us, but I’m not letting you go now I’ve finally got you. Both bits of you.”

She lifts her hips, and sinks on to him, and he lets the guilt go for now in the pleasure of feeling her heat. He flips her and slowly, slowly moves and they come again, together, and it’s good.

Karen falls asleep in his arms, and eventually, listening to her contented breaths and with his arms wrapped around her body, Matt does too.

He’s woken by the smell of coffee and eggs and by the feel of cotton, rather than silk, against his skin. It takes a moment to remember where he is, what happened the previous night, and another few minutes of searching to find his boxers and shirt on the floor. Semi-decent, he finds his way through to the kitchen, following his nose towards the coffee and the scent of Karen’s peppermint shower gel.

“Morning,” she says, leaning in for a kiss and passing him a mug. “How long is it since you’ve had a full night’s sleep?”

Matt feels for a stool by the counter, pulls it out and sits down. “Yeah. A while. What time is it?”

“Eight,” she says.

“I should get back to my place, change before work,” he suggests.

Karen puts a plate of eggs down in front of him. “Is that because you need a change of clothes, or because you don’t want Foggy to know you stayed the night here?”

He takes a bite of the eggs, because it’s a good way of stalling the answer. “Both, I guess,” he replies, eventually and honestly. “Foggy knows we’re … something, but I don’t want to freak him out.”

“Matt, he knows you’re Daredevil,” Karen says, and it still sounds weird hearing that word from her mouth. “I don’t think knowing that we’re dating is going to be any more freaky.”

He eats more eggs.

“Okay, we ought to tell him,” he says. “But I’d still like to change my shirt. And my laptop’s at my place.”

They arrange to meet at the office. Matt hails a cab outside Karen’s, and leans back inside it as it crawls its way towards his apartment amid the rush-hour traffic, remembering the night before.

He is jolted back to reality when he opens his apartment door. Expensive perfume, slow, steady heartbeat.

“Elektra, what the hell?” he says, ditching the cane in the hallway but leaving his glasses on. Coming closer to her, he realises the perfume is masking the harsh metallic odour of blood. “You’re hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” she says lightly. “You missed our meeting.”

“I was busy,” he returns. “What happened?”

“Oh, the Roxxon guys found out I was the one who hacked them,” Elektra says. “Could have done with a hand to take them out.” She pushes something on the floor a little towards him – a duffel bag, filled with …

He bends and unzips it, and the familiar scent of blood, sweat, and the chemicals Melvin uses to bond the suit together drift out.

“How … how did you know?” he asks.

“I know you, Matthew,” Elektra says.

“Not as well as you think,” he returns, closing the zip and pushing the bag aside. “I’m done with your games, Elektra. We’ll return your deposit. Get out of my apartment.”

He gives her credit. She leaves, without another argument, perhaps sensing the edge in his voice, but not without bestowing a kiss on his cheek. Matt has the uncomfortable feeling that this isn’t the last of Elektra.

Pushing thoughts of her aside, he packs the Daredevil outfit away in the trunk, grabs a quick shower, and pulls on a clean shirt and a fresh suit. He owes it to Karen to turn up and be the man he promised her he’d be.

Foggy and Karen are both already at the office when he arrives, and he can almost feel Karen’s smile as he walks in. He aims one back in her general direction.

A short while later, laptop and files unpacked, he crosses to Foggy’s room. “Fog, I … can we have a chat?”

“Sure, buddy.” Foggy’s voice, as he’d hoped, is warm and welcoming. “I hope it’s about our lovely assistant.”

Matt feels his cheeks redden; sometimes Foggy is a bit too close to the mark. “Yeah. Kind of.”

They go into the conference room, and sit down. Matt feels Karen next to him, support somehow radiating off her, and takes strength from it. How is it that he can fight five men at once, but telling his best friends something important is terrifying?

Karen reaches out and entwines her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze, and that helps.

“Karen and I … we’re … we’re dating,” Matt says, and the word ‘dating’ does not really encompass all that Karen is starting to mean to him.

Foggy hits the table with a bang that rings in Matt’s eardrums. “I knew it!” he says triumphantly, but Matt can hear the slight arrhythmia in his heart which shows that there are still mixed feelings about this development. He’s pretty sure that Foggy fancies Karen too, but knows Karen’s attention has all gone his way; she thinks of Foggy as a friend, or possibly a kind of brother.

“And last night, she, erm,” Matt continues, and Karen squeezes his hand again and finishes the sentence for him.

“I know Matt’s Daredevil,” she says.

Foggy sighs, deeply and gratefully. “Thank the Lord. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on like this. It’s a big secret to keep alone.”

Matt holds up his free hand. “There’s one more thing,” he adds, “something which neither of you know. Elektra’s back in town.”

Karen lets go of his hand, and Matt starts talking. He has to explain Elektra to Karen, and then explain things about Elektra to Foggy that his friend hadn’t known, and follow that up with the Roxxon stuff, which he isn’t sure he understands right now. Karen’s clearly uneasy with the prospect of an ex in town, and Foggy had never liked Elektra to start with. He only leaves out the Rosco Sweeney affair; he feels that might be a step too far.

At the end of the conversation he’s exhausted and emotionally wrung out. He excuses himself and goes to sit in his office, which is marginally quieter than the conference room. Foggy and Karen are talking, and he does his best to tune them out. But for once, his exhaustion feels honest. He has brought an end to the lies.

There’s a tap on the door, and Karen opens it up. “Can I come in?” she asks.

He nods, and she perches on the edge of his desk, close enough that he can feel body heat radiating from her.

“This Elektra,” Karen says. “Do you still love her? Because you did love her, right? It wasn’t just some college fling.”

“I did,” Matt answers. “There was a time when I’d have done anything for her, with her. I’ve never … I’ve never felt like that about anyone.”

“I see.”

“But I realised it wasn’t a good love,” he adds, off her words. “She made me different. Stopped me caring about real stuff, that mattered. Life was just one long game to Elektra. I think it maybe still is. That’s not what I want now.”

“What do you want?” Karen asks, softly.

“You. This. Nelson & Murdock.” Matt runs a finger up her arm, and feels her shiver under his touch.

“And how does Daredevil fit into this?” she persists. He sighs, and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“It’s a part of me,” he says. “I told Foggy, when Foggy found out … I walk these streets and I hear it all, every cry for help, every siren, every time someone’s mugged. I can’t shut it out, Karen, and there’s a bit of me that’s too much like my dad. We’re fighters, the Murdocks. I can’t just stop that. You get me, you get Daredevil too.”

She leans over and kisses him on the lips, soft and gentle and tasting of toothpaste and coffee. “All right. But you won’t stop me and Foggy worrying about you.”

He manages a smile. “Okay.”

They all try to settle to some work, but it’s hard. Matt can hear Foggy fidgeting and Karen chewing a pen and a lot of rustling of paper. It is a relief when, around lunchtime, the door opens to a stranger. Slightly elevated heartbeat, so some nerves, and a familiar smell of books and computers and the peculiar acid of yellow legal pads.

“Miss Page?” the newcomer says. “I’m Christopher Roth. I’m the public defender for Frank Castle.”

Matt and Foggy both emerge from their offices at the same time. Matt sticks his hand out, deliberately a good distance from Roth, and introduces himself. Roth, after a pause, crosses the space and shakes. His hand is clammy and the grip limp.

“And I’m Franklin Nelson,” Foggy adds. “Can we help you, Mr Roth?”

Roth digs around in his briefcase and produces a file. “I have Miss Page’s witness statement, with regard to the hospital shooting allegedly committed by my client. I’d like her to read through it.”

They all decamp back to the conference room, where Matt lets Foggy do most of the intimidation of the hapless public defender. He absorbs the information that Delaware is looking for extradition with interest, and starts to turn ideas over in his head as Karen reads through the statement with increasing amazement at its content, and eventually announces she can’t sign it.

Roth goes, and Matt tries out his idea on Foggy and Karen. There’s some truth in Foggy’s suggestion that Matt only wants to represent Frank Castle because he too is a vigilante, of sorts, but it’s more than that. There’s something going on with Reyes, and Matt wants more on Castle himself.

And it would be a distraction, from Elektra. He suspects Foggy knows this, but won’t voice it because after all, this is Foggy Nelson.

Karen is more supportive, and it’s down to her, really, that they end up at the hospital.

“What if he recognises you?” Karen asks, when they’re in the lift.

“He won’t,” Matt says, with confidence he half-feels, and grateful that his friends won’t know he’s not being entirely truthful. “Look, I’ve met people I know much better than Frank Castle while in the mask and the suit, and none of them have ever worked it out.” The lift dings, and the door opens. “Such as Brett Mahoney,” he adds, as they approach the policeman, who, it turns out, has earned a promotion.

They get the job. Castle doesn’t recognise Matt. They retire to an empty ward and start to go through the files, which for Matt is a frustrating business; Foggy and Karen keep exclaiming about things they’ve found and he can’t read. But they start to build a case.

When Karen goes in to talk to Castle alone – as their client seems to trust her most – Matt drops the work and listens to the conversation. It’s not like Castle’s in a fit state to harm Karen physically, but despite everything she’s clearly invested in him and Matt doesn’t want her hurt mentally either. He’s quite prepared to step in, if he has to.

Finally, as evening falls, there is good news. Delaware has no evidence and the death penalty is off the table. Foggy works his magic with the DA’s office, as they’ve all agreed he has the best chance of dealing with Reyes and Tower, and gets a settlement that Matt thinks is almost too lenient.

They lay it out for Castle, who seems to agree it’s the best option. Matt listens carefully to his heartbeat and there’s no hitch as Foggy explains all he needs to do is plead guilty.

Afterwards, he wonders if there’s something in Marine training which allows people to control their emotions to such a level that they can lie without betraying it, but by then the damage is done. Castle has rejected the deal, and the case will be in court next week. Reyes has clearly pulled strings – there’s no way it ought to get to trial that quickly.

All three of them are exhausted as they gather up the files and head out of the hospital.

“I think we should start again tomorrow morning,” Foggy says. “We all need sleep, and we have a hell of a lot of work to do.”

Karen starts to try and argue against this plan, but is caught out by a yawn, and Foggy hails a taxi for her. Before she gets into it, Matt catches her hand, and bends in for a kiss.

“We’re still good, right?” he checks, and she laughs into his lips.

“Still good.”

He drops his voice and murmurs into her ear, “Come to my place tomorrow?”

Karen nods, and kisses him again before getting into her cab. Beside him, Matt can feel Foggy’s vague unease.

“Too much?” he asks, and Foggy is silent for a second.

“Sorry, I shrugged,” he returns. “It’ll take a while to get used to, you know. But I’m glad, I want the two of you to be happy. I want us to be happy.”

Matt agrees this is a good idea, and in unspoken agreement, they turn to walk back towards the subway, for Foggy, and Matt’s apartment.

“You are going to go home and sleep, right?” Foggy queries, after a moment.

Matt considers, his cane sweeping steadily in front of his feet. “I might go out,” he admits. In fact there is no ‘might’ about it; the day has left him itchy for action. Foggy sighs.

“Just – be careful, please, buddy?” he says, anxiety radiating off him.

“I’m always careful,” Matt says automatically.

“Liar,” says Foggy, but without rancour.

Back at his apartment, he changes out of his suit and into the Daredevil armour, methodically doing up the straps and fastening his boots, checking the billy clubs are there before heading out via the roof.

It is a quiet night, criminally speaking. Matt stops two muggings, taking satisfaction from swift, efficient fights which leave the muggers injured (one concussion, two broken legs, a possible rib fracture, and a dislocated shoulder) and the victims clear to escape with all their belongings. He intervenes briefly in a brawl outside a bar, and finishes off by throwing a potential rapist at a dumpster and making sure the girl he was aggressively propositioning gets home safe. It is a good night, the sort of night which reminds him why he started with Daredevil in the first place.

He gets home soon after 1am with no injuries worse than battered knuckles, a split lip and a bruised side, and is tired enough to fall straight asleep after a quick shower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Frank Castle’s case is the toughest Matt can remember working on, and not just because he’s trying to defend a man who chained him up on a rooftop._
> 
> In which Matt actually makes it to court to deliver his opening speech.

They meet early at the office. Karen brings coffee and doughnuts; Matt accepts the coffee but declines the doughnuts, leaving Foggy delighted at the prospect of extra for him. And they get to work.

Frank Castle’s case is the toughest Matt can remember working on, and not just because he’s trying to defend a man who chained him up on a rooftop.

“We know he’s guilty, the jury knows he’s guilty, Reyes knows he’s guilty,” says Foggy, mid-morning, exasperation in his voice. “There must be a defence.”

“We need to lean on the military aspect,” Matt says, his fingers resting on his Braille reader. “When he … when we were talking, the janitor came up to the roof, former Marine. That got to Castle. Connected with him, somehow.”

“PTSD?” Foggy suggests. “Insanity would be an easy one to argue, too, and it would stop him from going to jail.”

Karen pushes back her chair, the scrape of wooden legs on the lino grating in Matt’s ears, and starts pacing the room. “I don’t think it would work. I don’t think Frank will go for it.”

“We’ve got a few days,” Matt points out. “Let’s look at this from another angle.”

They keep going, throughout the day, bashing out the details of the crimes Castle is said to have committed, the names of the people he has killed. It is emotionally and mentally exhausting and they knock off by common consent around 7pm.

Outside the office Karen takes Matt’s hand, and they walk back to his apartment in silence. Matt wonders what Karen’s thinking about, what expression is on her face, but suspects she, like him, is running the case over and over in her mind and trying to decide which way to go.

They pick up a bottle of wine on the way and order pizza when they get to his loft, which is mercifully Elektra-free. Karen turns on some music, complaining about his selection, while Matt puts on jogging bottoms and socks and a sweater. They eat, and drink, and start making out on the couch before Matt picks her up and takes her through to his bedroom.

There’s none of the frenzy of the first night this time. Instead, they take it slow, exploring each other’s bodies thoroughly. Matt works out exactly where Karen needs to be touched to make her shiver and cry out, and she proves she’s fairly talented herself in the skilled use of mouth and fingers.

She is again asleep before him, and he lies there for a while with the smell of her hair in his nose and the curve of her ass warm against his cock.

He is just drifting off when he hears the footsteps on the roof, and a heartbeat. Matt disentangles himself from Karen and listens for a second. He knows who both belong to.

It is cold on the roof, but his anger is hot inside and he does not care that he’s confronting Elektra dressed only in a pair of jogging bottoms.

“I told you to go,” he says.

“I went. I came back.” She takes a step closer. “You’ve picked up a lot of scars, Matthew, though I appreciate the effort on the abs.”

He grits his teeth and clenches his fists, willing himself to remain calm and keep his voice low. “What do you _want_ , Elektra? I have a case on, a life to lead. I’m not going to start playing your games again.”

“And a girl,” she says, and laughs at what must have been a flabbergasted expression on his face. “It’s written all over you, Matthew.”

“If you even so much as _look_ at her …” he starts, but she gets within his guard and touches his arm.

“It’s not about the girl. I’m on to something, something big, and I do need your help,” she says, holding out an object, which despite himself Matt touches. It’s a book, hardcover, relatively slim, filled with handwriting – he can smell the ink.

“What is it?” he asks.

“A ledger, from Roxxon,” she says. “Took me two nights to find it. Had to steal some blueprints, it was in a hidden room. Trouble is, it’s encrypted.”

“And you think the blind man’s going to help you decrypt it?” Matt says. “Forget it.” From downstairs, he hears the familiar creak of his bed, and a shift in Karen’s breathing and pulse. “Forget it,” he repeats. “I’ve told you twice now, Elektra. You have shit to deal with, deal with it yourself.”

He turns to leave, and throws over his shoulder: “Come anywhere near Karen Page and I will make an exception to my rules.”

“You wouldn’t,” Elektra says, but there’s false bravado in her voice.

Karen is half-asleep and murmurs a question about where he’s been, which he fobs off with a kiss. She goes back to sleep but his night is unsettled.

The next few days pass in similar fashion. Foggy and Matt work the case. Karen talks to Castle for them, bringing back messages of his unwillingness to cooperate. They go through a long, long day of jury selection and eventually compromise on the 12 least worst jurors. Matt spends another night at Karen’s, and she another night at his, and they even go into the office together afterwards.

Matt goes out as Daredevil in between the nights with Karen, and keeps an ear out for Elektra in the process. He hears the yakuza are stirred up, and suspects she is at least partially responsible, but there’s enough run-of-the-mill crime fighting to be done to keep himself occupied. Foggy and Karen are both annoyed at him for getting another cut on his cheek which needs butterfly stitches and he keeps from them what he’s pretty sure is a broken rib, but there’s enough to do with the case to stop them worrying too much.

He stays late the night before the trial starts, revising his opening again and again – and then again, when Karen texts to say that Castle definitely won’t go for PTSD as a defence. But as Matt listens back to the opening one last time and prints the cards to help him remember it, he’s feeling pretty confident.

Reyes’ opening is standard, about what they’d expected, with the jibe about vigilantes making Matt only more determined to fight this corner as best as he knows how. As she finishes, Karen squeezes his hand, and then it’s Matt’s turn.

He takes his time standing, assembling his cane, and approaching the jury; he’s learned over the years that playing to his perceived weakness never hurts. He can sense their attention and interest and some sympathy.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Matt begins. “You’ve been told by the District Attorney that Frank Castle is a vicious murderer who’s taken it upon himself to deal out punishment for the crimes of others. She’s right that those alleged victims are not on trial here.

“This case is about Mr Castle himself.” Matt gestures behind himself. “A man who served his country loyally for years. A man who was a devoted husband and father to two young children. A man who lost his family in a vicious attack for which nobody – nobody – has ever been arrested, let alone brought to trial.”

The jurors and the court are silent.

“The People will tell you that those who seek justice for themselves are vigilantes,” Matt continues, and across the courtroom he can feel Foggy and Karen’s tension. “That they should leave justice to the police, to the state. What happens when the system fails? When the system lets you down? When the system seems to be fixed against you, against your family? Those are the questions Frank Castle has asked.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are the ones who can answer those questions. All we want is for you to listen to the witnesses and decide for yourselves whether Frank Castle deserves punishment, or our help and our support and our gratitude for his service. Thank you.”

He nods at them, and taps his way back to his seat.

The first day of the trial continues with prosecution witnesses, mostly police officers giving evidence about the scenes of Castle’s crimes. Matt listens, Foggy cross-examines, Castle sits and says nothing.

With the decision made to focus on the medical examiner’s testimony the following day, Karen comes back to Matt’s apartment to help him prepare. They have a strategy, and it’s a good one, and Matt’s feeling happier about life in general than he has for a long time.

“You know in your opening earlier,” Karen says, after they’ve thrashed out the questions and he’s committed them to memory, “when you said Frank might deserve gratitude for his service?”

“Yeah?” Matt reaches for his glass.

“Do you … I mean, you believe that, right?”

Matt shrugs. “Frank has murdered people. He deserves a fair trial, but he deserves to be behind bars.”

“And Daredevil?” Her voice is low.

“Is not the same thing,” Matt says. “Daredevil – I’ve never killed anyone. That’s a line I’m not willing to cross. There’s a difference, Karen, between me and Frank.”

“But that much difference?” she persists.

“It’s not Frank’s decision who lives or dies, that’s up to God,” Matt says. “What happened to Frank’s family doesn’t give him the right to kill.”

“But what if it works?” says Karen. “I mean – I’m not saying he has the right, but what if it works?”

Matt stands, because he’s not sure he can have this conversation on the couch. “What he’s done, it’s vengeance, not justice,” he says. “He takes those people from their families, leaves kids to grow up without fathers …”

He stops talking, takes a deep breath before he goes too far. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he says instead, and he hears Karen gather her things, slip her feet into her shoes.

“Yeah. Maybe we should.” She hesitates as she passes him, close enough for him to reach out and stop her, but he does not and she goes in a waft of Thai spices.

Matt clears up, throwing the remainder of the food in the trash, pouring the rest of the wine down the sink, because if he does not he thinks he will drink it and more. He paces for a while, and then gives up and opens the trunk in the cupboard.

The tally at the end of the night is high, even for Daredevil: three armed robbers at a diner roughly disarmed; a bag snatcher left howling in an alley, the bag returned to its owner; yet another fight outside a bar broken up, and several bones broken; and four drug dealers incapacitated and reported to the police. Matt’s own injuries total a sprained knee, another possibly broken rib and a cut arm, although thankfully no more facial lacerations.

When they meet in court the next morning Karen kisses him on the cheek, squeezes his hand and murmurs, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Me too,” he says.

He doesn’t feel like they’ve patched everything up entirely, but it’s a start, and he can listen to the prosecution examine Dr Gregory Tepper with enough focus. Karen is making notes in pencil and Foggy is scribbling in biro, but it’s Matt who will have to stand up and cross-examine – to force a confession out of the witness.

Tepper doesn’t sound comfortable on the stand. The questions Reyes is asking are innocuous, and touch only on Castle’s recent shootings. There is nothing for him to hide, and yet his heart is racing and just accelerates as Matt stands up.

Matt starts soft, with standard questions about length of service and the number of death certificates Tepper has signed in his career. Reyes objects, mainly because Tepper is struggling to answer, and when the objection is sustained Matt switches gear.

“Let’s just say it’s a lot,” he says, advancing a little closer to Tepper. “Do you remember signing the death certificates for Frank Castle’s family?”

“Yes,” says Tepper.

“Do you remember what they said?” Matt persists.

“They were all shot,” Tepper says.

“Shot once? Shot multiple times?” Matt asks.

“Er … once?” tries Tepper, but his heartrate picks up again. “I don’t remember.”

“Witnesses in the park say there were multiple shots fired that day,” says Matt, thanking Karen mentally for her research. “Are you certain of your recall, Dr Tepper?”

“I, er, yes?” Tepper says, but his lack of certainty is obvious.

“And were Mrs Castle and the two children the only victims?” Matt pursues. Tepper’s heart accelerates further; Matt focuses in on it. “Dr Tepper? Were Mrs Castle and the two children the only victims?”

“No.” Tepper’s voice is quavery. “No.”

The courtroom is a cacophony of suppressed emotion, pulses thudding on both sides.

“Dr Tepper,” Matt says, his voice soft but persuasive, “are you telling this court that you altered the autopsy reports for the Central Park shooting?”

“Yes,” says Tepper. “Yes. I was ordered to. Two men came to see me. They threatened me and my family if I didn’t. I altered the autopsy reports for the Castle family and for a John Doe also found at the scene.”

“No further questions, your honour,” says Matt.

The prosecution witnesses are rolled in and out for the rest of the day, but Reyes is frazzled enough from the collapse of her star witness that Foggy and Matt are able to land enough solid hits to be feeling pretty good about progress. Karen reports that even Castle is looking marginally less gloomy by the end of the session.

They are calling Castle’s commanding officer as their first defence witness the following day, and Foggy is tasked with the examination. He and Karen go back to the office to prepare; Matt takes a taxi home. His phone rings as he’s opening the door of his building, and he answers it on the way up the stairs.

“Matthew.”

For a moment, Matt contemplates just hanging up, but he has to give Elektra some credit for calling rather than coming around this time. And after the success of the day, he’s feeling charitable enough to give her a bit of time.

“Don’t hang up on me,” she says, as though she’s reading his thoughts.

“Elektra.” He fits his key in his door, dumps his cane and glasses on the side. “What do you want?”

“I’ve found out what Roxxon is doing,” Elektra says. “Construction. Series of big-build projects across Manhattan. A hotel, the Midtown tunnel project, and a site at 44th and 11th.”

Matt remembers Elena Cardenas, and a pile of blueprints in a dusty warehouse, and his fist clenches involuntarily.

“Midland Circle,” he says. “Used to be a tenement building there. Wilson Fisk acquired it – we never knew what for.”

“Well, he must have sold it to Roxxon,” Elektra says. “Want to come and find out what they’re doing with it?”

He does not reply. His apartment is empty. He stands, contemplating the sounds of the city – a few sirens, the steady hiss and click of the billboard opposite, his downstairs neighbours arguing again.

“See you there in 30,” he says, after a minute, and puts the phone down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Wow, Matthew, that costume is ridiculous. Horns, really?”_
> 
> Midland Circle still has a big hole in it. Stick still rescues them. Castle still sabotages his trial. It's the little differences which count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback and kudos so far, it is very much appreciated!

She is waiting for him on a rooftop opposite the construction site that has sprung up where Elena Cardenas used to live. It’s quiet, and he does not bother masking his approach.

“I was wondering if you were actually going to come,” Elektra says. “And wow, Matthew, that costume is ridiculous. Horns, really?”

He grins at the tone in her voice. “Keeps me from being stabbed, it’s a win,” he returns.

“So long as you can still fight in it,” says Elektra. “Guards are patrolling the perimeter.”

Matt listens. Five men, in steel-capped boots, each with a rifle. He loosens his billy clubs in their holster. “Watch me,” he says, to her challenge.

After several nights of tackling petty criminals, it is almost a relief to have a proper fight, to have to dodge the bullets and avoid a kick from the boots. Matt zones in on the sound of bodies moving and breath racing and has three of the guards grounded before Elektra joins in. They dispose of the remaining two swiftly.

The construction site seems to be empty. He listens hard, but there is no sound of a pulse inside apart from Elektra’s next to him. But there is a weird vibe about the place. It feels more than empty, like there is a void in the fabric of the building. He reaches out harder, using all his senses, and realises.

“Elektra, you’re not going to believe this,” he says, leading the way swiftly towards what he has now identified as an enormous hole. It has straight edges – this is man-made, and deep. He drops her flashlight in it, and listens for what seems like an age as it falls, falls, before finally hitting stony ground at the bottom.

The hole makes no sense. It’s too deep for him to get a sense of what’s at the bottom, and there seems no logical reason for any organisation to want to dig a hole this deep in the middle of Manhattan. Yet Matt is suddenly glad he picked up the phone to Elektra. If someone is trying to do something to the Kitchen, he wants to be there to stop it.

His thoughts are broken by the whistle of a weapon skimming through the air; he ducks it and they take cover. But there is no sound of heartbeats – he can’t read these attackers.

He can read the rasp of a sword being drawn, however, and it is the swish of metal which he hones in on now as the fight begins in earnest. The void is always there, a warning behind him. He dances away from it, weaving and ducking from the sharp blades of the attackers to get under their guard and take them down.

Elektra is there too, and later on Matt will rue the irony that in seeking to stop her killing, he almost gets her killed. The rest is a blur – Stick, a horrible jolting car journey during which they’re attacked again, by ninjas with bows and arrows of all things – and finally a panicked five minutes in his apartment during which time Stick concocts some sort of cure for whatever Elektra’s been poisoned by, using toilet cleaner.

And then Elektra is, mercifully, asleep, calm, and it’s time to confront Stick. Stick, who apparently _knows_ Elektra. Who calls Elektra ‘Ellie’, which makes a warped kind of sense if Matt thinks about it, as this is after all the man who persists in calling him ‘Matty’, like he’s a kid.

Matt really, really wants to pummel Stick’s face into the ground, and then throw him out, but he doesn’t want Elektra dying on him either, and there seems to be no option other than to let Stick do his thing. Instead he strips out of the armour and puts it away, showers, and eats, and paces the apartment for the rest of the night.

As morning approaches and the city wakes up, he knows he has to make a call. Either he stays here, to keep an ear on Stick and on Elektra; or he leaves them for the trial. He makes a coffee, and paces, and thinks, and makes his decision.

“I can’t stop you from going out, but I’m asking you, all right?” he says to Stick, who is nursing a bottle of Matt’s best Scotch in a chair by his bed. Elektra is still asleep, but there’s no smell of poison now in the room.

“You need to forget all that and stay here,” Stick says. “There’s a war on, Matty, and I need you both for it.”

“Goddammit!” Matt swears, in his head asking God for forgiveness. “I am not staying for your war, Stick, I’m going to work, to court, to my friends. I’ll be back later.”

He is more or less on time at court, although the first thing Karen says is “have you slept at all, Matt?”

“Buddy, what the hell?” Foggy adds. “What happened to your hair?”

Matt pats ineffectually at it, and Karen moves in to smooth down an apparent errant tuft.

“Didn’t sleep much,” Matt says. “Look, I’ll explain later. You ready for Schoonover, Fog?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Foggy agrees.

He’s not just ready, he’s magnificent. Matt listens with pride as Foggy extracts a glowing character reference for Castle from the colonel, and then they all listen with amusement and a growing sense that _hey, we might actually have a chance here_ as Reyes sabotages her own case through a lack of research.

After the recess, Foggy continues being brilliant, and their medical expert delivers too.

And then it all falls apart. It’s all very well for a judge to tell a jury to disregard an outburst, but no juror has ever been able to forget the sight of a young man mourning the loss of his father. His voice is seared on Matt’s eardrums.

“It was all going so well,” Foggy says, morosely, as they gather in a court office to discuss the next moves.

“We need to put Castle on the stand,” Matt says. “Get him talking about _his_ family.”

He can sense their doubt. Karen chews her pencil.

“When I … when _Daredevil_ picked him up, last week,” says Matt, and was it really only a few days ago? “you should have heard him, talking about his daughter. We have to get the jury back on his side, so we need him to be human. We need to do this.”

“Okay, first up,” Foggy says, “don’t talk about yourself in the third person, it’s weird enough already. Secondly, if he agrees – if he agrees, Matt – you’re doing the examination. We need someone nearly as crazy as Castle to get anything out of him.”

Matt decides Foggy does not mean this as a compliment, but nods. “Okay.”

“So you need to go home and sleep,” Karen adds. “You look exhausted.”

Matt takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, puts the glasses back on again. “About that,” he says. “I promised not to hide stuff from you guys any more.”

“You went out last night,” Foggy says.

“Yeah. With … with Elektra,” Matt admits, and he’s glad he can’t see their faces. “Turns out what she’s been looking into, it’s got a connection to Fisk. And Mrs Cardenas’ building.”

“They’re building some office there,” says Karen, her voice a little flat. “Midland … Midland something.”

“Circle,” Matt says. “Midland Circle. We went inside. There’s something weird going on there. And we were attacked.”

Foggy sighs, and stands up, his chair grating on the floor. “Of course you were. Matt, buddy, you said you were done with Elektra. You said you were done with her _years_ ago.”

“I had to know what was going on,” Matt says, trying to direct his words at Foggy’s face.

“And do you? Are you _any_ wiser, after being attacked in a building site?” Foggy returns, his voice now definitely angry. But then it softens. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Elektra got slashed by a poisoned sword blade,” Matt says.

“So you took her home, because you can’t resist the siren call of a Greek goddess,” says Foggy, resigned now. “Of course you did. Then you spent the night awake and worrying about her. Swords, Matt?”

“They were ninjas,” Matt says, and it sounds faintly ridiculous, even to him.

“I can’t even tell if you’re being honest or not,” Foggy says. “Okay. Here’s the plan. Karen, you go and persuade Castle he needs to take the stand. Matt, go home, get some sleep, revise the case, and …”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees, standing up and putting his cane together. “Kick Elektra out.”

When he gets home, Stick is meditating and Elektra is asleep still, but her skin is warmer and her breathing normal. Matt knows he can’t tell her to go, not while she is still suffering the effects of whatever was on the blade.

He is purposefully noisy, or at least Stick-and-Matt noisy, which will annoy the old man and not wake Elektra from her sleep. After he’s closed the fridge door with more effort than he needs, Stick says irritably, “You made your point, Matty.”

“Is she getting better?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s getting better.”

“Good.” Matt pops the top off the beer he’s taken from the fridge, and drinks deep. “Okay. Now, tell me about this war.”

Stick tells him about the war. Matt listens, tries to process the crazy shit Stick is saying, and then remembers the silent ninjas.

“Main thing is,” Stick says, “we need you both, Matty. You and Ellie alike. You’re warriors, you’re not made for the soft world out there.”

Standing up and lobbing his empty beer bottle accurately into the trash, Matt laughs, although he doesn’t find the situation particularly funny. “No, Stick. You don’t get to dictate my life any more, not since you abandoned me. Remember? I am not yours to order around. This is _my_ city. And I’m not a warrior, I’m a lawyer, and a good one.”

He pauses, and there is a noise from the bedroom. They’ve woken Elektra. Matt hurries in to stop her from getting up, taking her hand to feel her pulse and how hot she is now. Things seem normal, but she’s groggy still.

She dozes for the rest of the afternoon, and Matt sits by her bed and reads through trial notes, determined to at least fulfil that part of his bargain with Foggy and Karen. He contemplates trying to throw Stick out but right now there seems to be little point.

Matt is refreshing his memory of Tepper’s testimony when there is a knock on the door, and before he knows it Stick has gone to answer it. It’s Karen, he can tell as soon as he stops focusing on the files and turns his attention to the door, and he’s too slow to stop Stick, to stop Karen coming in …

He does have time to get up and slide the bedroom door closed, as Karen follows Stick into the apartment. She smells, very faintly, of the holding cells they keep Castle in between transportation to and from Rykers every day; a smell of too much bleach and of rubber shoes.

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to act as though there wasn’t an old blind man standing right next to them.

“He’ll testify,” Karen says, and then bypasses him and opens the bedroom door. Matt can hear her breathing a little harder as she looks at Elektra, and then she’s turned back past him and he’s hurrying to catch her up.

“Karen. Karen!” They’re at the door before he manages to catch her arm and stop her. “Karen.”

She shakes his hand off her arm. “You said you were kicking her out.” She lowers her voice. “And who’s the other guy?”

“He can hear every word you say,” Matt says wearily, not bothering to lower his tone to match hers. “He taught me to fight. And he knows Elektra.”

“Yeah, the woman _in your bed_ ,” Karen retorts.

“She’s still ill. I can’t kick her on to the street,” Matt argues. “When she wakes up, I’ll get her in a cab and send her home. I’ll be there tomorrow, Karen, I promise you.”

Karen seems to be hesitating. Then she says, “good,” and leaves.

Despite not wanting to leave Elektra alone with Stick, or Stick alone in his apartment, Matt knows he needs to get out. He puts on the armour rapidly, ignoring Stick’s jibes about needing it, and exits via the roof.

The outing is enough to allow him to sleep, rolled up in a slightly itchy blanket on the floor of his bedroom. Stick has claimed the couch and Matt can’t be bothered arguing with him about it; besides, he’s slept on floors before. As he drifts off he listens to Elektra’s heart, a rhythm he had thought never to hear again, and he wonders how he’s going to solve the riddle of managing both the woman in his bed and the woman who had begun to work her way into his heart.

At court the next morning Karen is cool, detached and professional. Foggy notices – how can he not? – but Matt forces himself to behave normally. They have one job today, to get the jury to see Frank Castle as a bereaved father, a man who the system has let down, and not as a murderer.

Foggy is reminding Matt of this as Castle is brought in, and Matt’s attention is not on their client. He misses the actual content of the murmured words from one of Castle’s guards, and worry about what might have been said is nagging at him as he stands up to begin questions.

He goes in soft, trying to ease Castle in, but the man is not cooperating. He tries for some leading questions, waiting for Reyes to jump up and object. All he gets in return is monosyllabic answers.

“What did you feel when you were told about your family’s deaths?” Matt asks.

“Hurt,” says Castle.

“Can you describe what you felt like in more detail?” Matt pursues, feeling increasingly out of his depth.

“What do you think I felt like?” Castle responds, as Matt had guessed he would.

Matt sighs, and takes a different tack. “What do you think about the corruption and crime in this city right now?” he asks, expecting Reyes to leap at that one. She does not.

“I dunno,” says Castle, and Matt feels his fingers clench around the handle of his cane. He takes a deep breath.

“Mr Castle – Frank – would you say your actions are a product of the city, of the crime that left you alone in this world?” he tries. “Does it feel like the only thing you can do is fight against that, to do _something_ because nobody else is doing anything?”

“Your Honour,” says Frank, rather than answering Matt’s question. “Can I say something?”

And the trial falls apart.

Foggy makes a decent stab at a closing statement, trying to blame Castle’s outburst on trauma, but they know it’s a lost cause. The jury go out, and by the end of the day, they’re back in. Castle is guilty. Castle is going to jail.

They avoid the press on the way out. The pack are looking for Reyes in her triumph, in any case.

“Were you questioning Castle, or yourself, in there?” Foggy asks, eventually, as they head down the court steps.

“I was trying to defend our client,” Matt snaps back, quicker and harsher than he’d intended. “Not my fault if he goes crazy.”

“It was _your_ idea to take the case!” Foggy exclaims, and Matt can hear the anger in his expression. “Next time, we do things my way. If we get any more clients after sending the last one to prison for a thousand years. See you around, Matt.”

He stomps off, his heartbeat jittery, and Matt lets him go. He can hear Karen close by, trying to decide whether to follow Foggy or stick with Matt.

“Karen,” he says. “Karen, we need to talk.”

She does at least stop. “About?”

“Us.”

“Is there an us?” Karen asks. “I thought perhaps there was, but I’m not sharing you with your crazy college girlfriend, Matt. You told me she was over.”

“And I told you it was complicated,” Matt returns, with a flash of anger he instantly tries to tamp down. “The old guy, in my apartment, Stick – I told you he taught me. Well, turns out he taught her, too.”

“What, that makes it all right?” Karen asks, but there is a touch of interest in her voice now along with the hurt.

“No.” Matt reaches out, and lays a hand carefully on her arm. “Look, if you want to talk about this, I will talk about it, but can we at least grab a coffee or something? Not do it here, on the court steps?”

She agrees, and they get coffee from a cart close by and take it to the park opposite, where there is an empty bench.

“Okay.” Matt folds up his cane, cups his hands around the cup. “I was ten. Stick helped me learn what I was capable of. He showed me how to use my … how to use everything I had, how that was more important than what I didn’t have.” He gestures at his eyes, for Karen’s benefit. “But he left me. Then in college, I met Elektra. I told you about that; it was intense, it ended badly.

“I knew she could fight. She told me she’d had capoeira lessons, karate lessons, the sort of thing rich kids do in their spare time. But it turns out Stick trained her too.”

“When did you find that out?”

“Two nights ago, after Midland Circle,” Matt says. He tells her about Stick’s war, and by the end of the story, she sounds less frustrated at him than she did.

“So what’s with the ninjas?” Karen asks.

“Stick says they’re part of some ancient, secret organisation.” Matt shrugs. “I don’t really care. I don’t want to fight his war, but if it starts affecting the city, then I can’t stand by and let it happen. Maybe we should just set Frank Castle on them and they can all deal with each other.”

He finishes his lukewarm coffee, grimaces, and accurately lobs the cup into a nearby trashcan, easily identifiable by the smell of slowly decaying food inside it. “I should head home, see if she’s well enough to leave.”

Karen stands up too and waits for him to unfold his cane before offering her elbow.

“Taxi?” she says, showing him she’s coming too.

Elektra is still in his apartment, half-awake, when they get back, but Stick has gone.

“I told him to go,” she says, sleepily, as he stands in his bedroom doorway.

“How are you feeling?” Even though Karen’s there, Matt can’t muster anything except concern in his voice.

“Better,” she says, and she feels it, sounds it. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Matthew?”

He hears Karen murmur, “ _Matthew_?” under her breath.

“I don’t think you’ll be spending any time together,” he says. “Elektra, I need you to go home.”

“So you and your girlfriend can be alone?” Elektra says, an edge to her voice. “Sure. Fine. I’ll go home and fight this war on my own and you can go and be a fancy lawyer and pretend to have a normal life.”

She swings her legs out of bed, and he hears the rustle of fabric as she takes off his shirt and puts on the clothes she was wearing at Midland Circle. Karen is sitting silent on the couch, watching with what Matt thinks is admirable restraint given the fact he can tell how much she wants Elektra gone.

He hears Karen’s gasp even as he registers the vibration in the air of a projectile coming at him, fast and hard, and a split second later his shoulder is on fire as the arrow hits home.

“Get down!” he manages, as a second arrow narrowly misses, and then the attacker – another ninja, his footsteps light and his breathing controlled – leaps down from the roof entrance and the fight is engaged.

Karen has retreated to behind the kitchen counter but his attention is on the other man, who is lithe and quick. Matt can feel his own body sluggish to respond to the attack. He manages to wrest the bow off the ninja, and lands a couple of blows, but there is little weight to his punches and his breathing is far too hard for such a fight.

The whisper of steel as the man draws his katana causes an indrawn breath from Karen across the room. Matt ignores her; she’s safe, he’s not. He ducks, parries, wrests the sword from the attacker’s hand. The air thrums with small, sharp weapons and he weaves and dives to avoid them. Despite what is certainly poison flowing through his bloodstream, he senses he has the upper hand, and gets the ninja down and the mask off.

The man’s breathing is quick and now that Matt has the time to listen, he hears a quick, light heartbeat. The shoulder beneath his hand is muscled but lean and still developing. This is only a boy.

Maybe it’s the poison in his system, but he has only just processed this new discovery when he hears Elektra’s swift footsteps, the rasp as she picks the sword up from the ground, and the swish-thunk of the blade slicing into the boy’s neck. Karen screams, a short, hoarse, quiet scream.

Matt knows nothing more.

He wakes some time later – he cannot tell how long – in his own bed. The sheets still smell of Elektra, but also of his blood, and sweat. He thrashes up into consciousness but it takes a few moments to realise that Karen is there, her hand on his arm soft and soothing. There is nobody else in the apartment.

“Shhhh,” Karen murmurs, and presses something cool on his forehead. “It’s okay, Matt, you’re okay.”

He fumbles for her hand. “What happened? Where’s Elektra? Where’s that kid?”

Karen curls her fingers around his. “Elektra’s gone, but she called some people, took the … took him away. Cleaned your place up. Surprised you can’t smell the bleach – even I can.

“You were poisoned, by the arrow, but she sorted that out too before she left, gave you some concoction and it seems to have worked. She says you’ll be fine.” She sniffs. “Don’t know if I trust her, but, well.”

“Are you all right?” Matt asks, desperately.

“I’m fine,” Karen says, and she’s not lying. “It was scary as hell, but he wasn’t after me, he was after you.”

She releases his hand, and stands up to squeeze out the damp flannel she had put to his brow. “I’ll get you some water. I’ve called Foggy, let him know we’re here.”

Matt relaxes back into his pillows, too exhausted to think about moving. The sound of the streets outside wash over him, and he falls back into sleep.

When he wakes again and checks his watch he discovers it’s evening. A full day and night have passed since he and Karen got back to the apartment, and since the ninja attack. He sits up, and finds there is no rush of blood to the head, but his feet feel unsteady when he puts them to the floor and he makes his way slowly to the bathroom, running a hand along the wall to guide himself.

Coming out of the bathroom, he registers Karen’s heartbeat along with another – Foggy. Matt realises he’s still way off full recovery, to not have noticed Foggy sooner.

“Buddy. You look horrible,” Foggy says, from the kitchen table. “Get back to bed before you fall over.”

“I’m fine,” Matt lies, and he knows that Foggy and Karen are wearing identical expressions of disbelief and concern. “I’m feeling much better,” he amends, sitting down in an armchair heavily.

“Well, here’s some good news,” Foggy says, in a tone of mock-cheerfulness, “you can stay in bed until you’re better. There’s nothing to get up for. No cases.”

“Foggy, I’m sorry …” Matt begins, and Foggy cuts him off.

“Don’t be. We all did our best with Castle, and it was he who blew it. Give it a week, clients’ll be back.” Foggy comes over to Matt and waits until Matt has raised his fist for the Foggy-Matt fist-bump. “So I’ll let you off for almost dying, again, for today, and will now leave you two lovebirds alone.”

“Where are you going?” Karen asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” says Foggy, and heads off.

“I think he’s dating Marci again,” Matt says, finally working out what the lingering touch of jasmine was around Foggy.

Karen lets him sit for a few minutes, and brings him water, before encouraging him back to bed. She tucks him tenderly under the covers and makes sure he’s comfortable. Matt pats the other half of the bed.

“Lie down with me?” he asks. “Please?”

She hesitates, and he cannot tell if it’s because of his injuries, or because she’s still a little angry with him over Elektra, but after a moment she slips off her pants and top and climbs in next to him in her underwear. Carefully, she curls into his back, warm and smooth.

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Matt closes his eyes, and focuses on her heartbeat, and lets himself slide into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Matt got to Stick later, what would have happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised when writing this that the night culminating in the big Stick/Elektra fight at Stick's is massive in the show - an awful lot happens in a short space of time. So surely it would have been easy for Matt to get there too late, in another universe?
> 
> I also realised halfway through this that Karen in this fic isn't doing much at the Bulletin. I thought about retrospectively working it in, then I considered the piece is from Matt's perspective anyway, and then I decided to eliminate her amazing stroke of luck in suddenly getting a reporting job at a newspaper (with an office!) with zero experience. Honestly, as a journalist, it's possibly the bit of the show which rings the least true to me.

He wakes to the sound of Karen on the phone. “Sure. Yeah. Yes, I’ll be there. Uh … I can tell him. Same time? Okay.”

She comes into the bedroom, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“That was the DA’s office,” she says. “Did you hear?”

“Only just woke up. What’s happened?” There is something in her voice which makes his senses ring.

“Frank … Frank Castle escaped from prison,” Karen says. “And the DA wants us to meet with her. All three of us. At her office, at 10.”

“What time is it?” Matt queries, sitting up. The wound in his shoulder twinges but the pain is much reduced and his head feels clear.

A pause. “8.10,” says Karen. Another pause, and then she leans over and kisses him, soft and brief. It’s a promise that there’s still something there, even if neither of them know right now where it is going.

He has time to get ready slowly. A shower helps, making him feel more or less normal again. Karen helps him put a fresh dressing on his shoulder and watches as he picks out a suit and tie. There’s nothing to eat in the apartment, so they get coffee and bagels on the way to the meeting.

Foggy is waiting on the court steps as they arrive. All around is a buzz of security and they have to queue to get through a metal detector into the courthouse, which is new. Reyes and Tower are both on edge, but she is far more twitchy than he is. Matt reads not just nerves but actual terror from her – it’s in her voice, her racing pulse, the smell of perspiration under her sweatshirt. It’s not difficult now to get the full story out of them – heroin, undercover op gone wrong, cover-up gone wrong, crime lord known as the Blacksmith.

He’s so focused on the conversation he hears the click of the gun a fraction too late. Too late to stop the bullet which thuds into Foggy’s shoulder, and too late to do anything except throw himself and Karen to the floor. Matt knows when Reyes dies, can hear her breath fail and her heart stop, long before the hail of bullets do.

The emergency response is quick, and the rest of them are fine. Foggy’s wound is relatively minor, considering, and Matt is sure his friend will recover swiftly. He already knows where he needs to go next, and decides it’s worth risking Foggy and Karen’s ire by heading straight there.

But the meeting with Fisk does not go as he planned. The man’s sudden switch from calm to fury startles Matt and here, in this prison, he cannot risk fighting back. He leaves shaken and unmanned, relying too much on his cane, and heads to the hospital.

Foggy is too tired to shout at him. Karen is not there, and Matt worries about this. He tries calling her but her phone is going through to voicemail, and he spends an uncomfortable night trying to sleep by Foggy’s bedside. The chair is fine, but there is far too much ambient noise in the hospital – buzzes and beeps and cries of pain – and the smell of sickness, disinfectant, latex gloves, and blood are overwhelming.

He runs into Claire during a trip to get a bottle of water. She starts at seeing him in a rumpled suit, glasses on, and he realises they’ve never run across each other before like this, each of them in their everyday guise.

“Matt?” she says, and he nods. “You all right?”

“My friend was shot,” Matt explains. “He’s going to be fine.”

“You look … surprisingly uninjured,” Claire says, and he decides not to mention the arrow wound in his shoulder, which continues to improve but is still definitely present.

“I’m trying,” he says instead.

“I’m glad.” Claire reaches out, touches his arm gently. “You know where I am, if you need me.” A pause. “By the way, the glasses are kind of cool.”

He manages a grin, and she heads off to wherever she needs to be.

Back in Foggy’s room, Matt tries Karen’s phone again, and it still goes to voicemail. He’s about to start panicking when his phone rings, with the tone it plays when it does not know who’s calling.

“Matt Murdock,” he says.

“Murdock, it’s Brett Mahoney. Look, she’ll probably be mad at me, but we have Karen Page here. She was shot at. She’s fine, says she doesn’t need anyone, but …”

“I’ll be there,” Matt says.

Thanks to a helpful nurse, who is happy to help when he summons up the ‘help me I’m blind’ persona, he leaves a note for a sleeping Foggy and heads out to the precinct.

He waits outside until Karen emerges, in the company of a couple of officers. She comes straight to him, but her tone is cool as she explains she was fine, really, Frank Castle saved her, and she has police protection.

“I should come with you,” Matt says, knowing police protection won’t be enough against the Blacksmith, whoever he is.

“And why would the cops let me bring my blind boss into a dangerous situation?” Karen asks. “Matt, it’s sweet you think I need looking after but I don’t. If you want to help, see if you can get anything on the Blacksmith.” She sighs. “God, I can’t believe I’m encouraging you now. But maybe Daredevil can help.”

“Maybe he can.” Matt wants, very badly, to hold Karen but restrains himself, instead making a conscious effort to relax his grip on his cane. “Okay. Look after yourself. Call me. If …”

“Yeah.”

She heads off to the waiting police car. Matt turns to go back to his apartment. It’s nearly dusk, and it’s time to hit the streets.

The night is long, and takes him from a careful encounter with Tower, to Chinatown, to another bruising fight with Frank Castle. Matt still can’t manage to _like_ the guy, but he has to admit that Castle is tenacious, and he does have a code of honour – or else Matt would have been blown to the heavens along with most of a haul of heroin.

He drags himself out of the river, wishing not for the first time that Melvin had added a layer of neoprene or something to the suit, and listens to Mahoney and Karen as they survey the scene. The only heartbeats he can hear belong to Karen and to the police and the paramedics, so Matt assumes that Castle is either dead, or has escaped in the river too.

It is some time before Karen is alone. He drags his burner phone from his pocket, grateful he spent a little more for waterproofing, and texts her.

_To your left. Behind the crates._

He hears her receive the message, take her phone out of her own pocket, and then her footsteps coming over.

“Matt? What the hell are you doing here?”

He pulls her down to a crouch. “Came to tell Frank he had the wrong guy. Spent the night tracking down information on the Blacksmith, like you said. I’m pretty sure he’s military. There’s organisation behind this, good organisation.”

“Is Frank dead?” Karen asks.

“I don’t know. If he was on the boat, yeah. He could have got off.”

“I could try calling him,” says Karen. “I, erm, I have his number.”

Matt stamps down on the urge to ask what she was thinking and merely acknowledges her comment with a nod. “Look, try in the morning. If he made it off, he’s laying low. If not, they might have found his body then.” He suppresses a shiver; the river chill is beginning to bite. “I need to get out of this thing. Call you in the morning? Let’s work out who the Blacksmith could be, all right?”

“Yeah. Go. You look frozen.”

He thinks, for a second, about kissing her, but decides it would be weird in the suit. Karen heads back to the police cordon and Matt slips off in the opposite direction.

The city is always filled with sirens, and he’s cold enough that he’s been tuning them out, but he’s almost home when he realises there’s a police car and an ambulance parked right outside his building. He pauses on the roof to listen and discovers a car has crashed into a bollard. Both occupants are dead, but only one had died after the crash.

Something is wrong about the situation, and Matt changes his mind about taking off the armour and getting straight into a warm shower. Instead, he strips, towels himself down quickly and throws on street clothes and his glasses before hurrying down the stairs to the street.

There are a few other people at the cordon, watching what’s going on, including a couple of Matt’s own neighbours.

“Hey,” says one of them, a guy who lives on the second floor, “come to find out what the noise was about?”

“Something like that,” Matt says. “What happened?”

“First I heard was the sound of brakes right outside,” his neighbour reports, with some glee, “and then an almighty crash. So I look outside and this old car’s crunched up on the sidewalk.”

“Old car?” asks Matt. “Maybe the brakes failed?”

“Nah,” his neighbour says. “Guys inside look more banged up than they should be just from a car crash. It’s _grim_ , man.”

“Wow,” Matt says.

He tunes out his neighbour’s chatter and focuses in on the accident scene. There is the strong odour of brake fluid, gas and oil, but just as strong is the scent of blood. He filters those smells out and goes deeper, because something is niggling at the corner of his mind. Taking a deep breath in, he finally identifies it. Stick. The car smells of Stick – of steel, and the carbolic soap he uses, and the incense he burns to meditate with. It’s Stick’s car, the one they used to get away from Midland Circle.

Matt slips away from the scene and back up the stairs. It is surely no coincidence that Stick’s car is outside his apartment with two dead bodies in it.

The suit is still damp and harder than usual to haul back on, but within ten minutes he’s back on the rooftops and running as fast as he can towards Stick’s hangout. He’s glad he’d made a point of finding out where it was in advance.

The stench of blood hits him even before he gets inside the building and he has no problem following the trail to its source.  

Stick is already dead, although not long since; his body is still slightly warm when Matt lays a hand on it. Close by, Elektra is lying propped up against a bookshelf, her breath weak. She barely responds when he feels for her injuries – she has several deep cuts to her arms and torso and her clothing is soaked in blood.

He takes his gloves off and fumbles his phone out, but she has enough awareness to touch his arm.

“No,” she says, softly, painfully. “There’s no point, Matthew.”

“You just need an ambulance,” he says.

“I’m done,” Elektra murmurs. “It’s been a good 20 minutes and I’ve been bleeding out. It’s fine. Stick’s dead, right?”

“Stick’s dead,” Matt confirms. “Elektra …”

“Just hold me,” Elektra says. “Just hold me.”

He lets the phone drop and takes her in his arms. She sighs and settles against him.

It does not take long. Her breathing slows, and her heart rate drops, and she slips away.

Matt sits there with her for what seems like an age, his cheeks streaked with tears sliding from underneath his mask, before rousing himself. Gently he lays Elektra’s body down against the bookshelf, retrieves his phone, and slips out the way he had come. He calls 911 when he’s out of the building, reporting a disturbance, but does not wait for the police to arrive.

He spends the rest of the night awake, remembering the whirlwind that had been college with Elektra. Remembering the first time they’d fucked, in the ring at Fogwell’s. Remembering the way she made him feel whole, like he could be true to himself for perhaps the first time in his life.

He remembers Stick, too. Long training sessions which left him battered and bruised and exhausted as he tried, and tried, and tried to please the old man.

And he remembers the way they both left him, only to come back and throw his life into chaos again. Perhaps it’s fitting that they’ve destroyed each other, once again, and left him, this time for good.

Matt paces his apartment for a while; tries to meditate, and fails; and paces longer until his watch and his phone confirm it’s morning and he can call Karen and Foggy.

When she arrives Karen is in the same clothes she was wearing the previous night and she smells of smoke from the burning ship. “There’s no sign of Frank,” she says, sinking into the sofa and kicking off her shoes. Then she takes in Matt’s appearance. “God, Matt, what happened?”

“Wait for Foggy,” Matt says. “He’s on the stairs.”

He does not beat about the bush when Foggy comes in, telling them straight that Stick and Elektra fought each other and killed each other. Both of them exclaim over the news, but Foggy cannot hide the fact he’s at least a little glad. Karen gets up off the sofa and gives Matt a close hug.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers in his ear.

“So is that it?” Foggy asks. “Is that the end of the weird ninja stuff?”

“I hope so.”

“I was leaning towards a ‘yes, absolutely’, there, Matt,” Foggy says.

Matt cannot manage even a smile at this. He feels empty inside now he’s told them. At least Foggy has the sense to realise this, and does not try to bluster through the silence. Instead, he gets up and makes tea and Matt listens to the sound of his heart while he does so, and it helps.

When each of them have a steaming cup of comforting tea in their hands, Karen says, “I was thinking about what you said last night, Matt.”

“About?”

“About the Blacksmith being military. I was wondering … maybe it’d be worth going to see Colonel Schoonover again. He knows - he knew Frank, and he might have some ideas. We could say we’re considering an appeal, or something.”

Foggy laughs hollowly. “No court would ever agree to an appeal by Frank Castle, Karen. And when and where were you two talking last night?”

They explain, and Foggy does not sound any happier about it. “It’s not like we’re really planning an appeal, especially as Frank’s probably dead,” says Karen, “but all we need is for Schoonover to believe me long enough to let me in.”

The idea has merit, and thinking about it helps fill a little bit of the hole inside Matt. He hadn’t interacted much with Schoonover during the trial – Foggy had handled that – but he did get the sense that the colonel had chosen his words very carefully, that there was more which could be said about the relationship with Frank Castle.

“It’s a good idea,” Matt says, cutting through Foggy’s grumbles. “I’ll come with you, Karen.”

“I can go alone,” she protests.

“I know you can, but I might be useful,” Matt points out. “If he’s lying, I’ll know. And … and I can’t sit here all day, thinking.”

Schoonover lives out of the city and the focus needed to handle the train ride from Penn actually helps Matt push away his thoughts about Elektra and Stick. Karen helps too, holding his hand while they board the train and talking to him softly about the view from the window. Nevertheless, Matt is glad when they get off at Croton-Harmon and his nose is assaulted not with the stale train-smell but with the scent of pine from the forest surrounding the town.

Karen had called ahead and Schoonover is expecting them. His house feels big, and secluded, with good security – Matt can hear the low-level buzz of the cameras around the perimeter and there is an electronic gate at the entrance.

He lets Karen lead; given a little more time he could have scoped out the interior alone, but it’s easier and more genuine for her to tell him about corners and doors and steps as Schoonover leads them into his office. It’s a cosy sort of room with plenty of books and paper softening the sound of their footsteps and voices, and framed pictures on the walls.

She leads on the conversation too, getting straight in there by explaining again their story that they’re perhaps looking at an appeal, and was there anything more Schoonover could give them about Frank’s character which could help?

Schoonover seems happy to talk, waxing lyrical about the bonds built in war. Matt listens, and throws in the odd prompt to keep him talking while Karen looks at the pictures on the walls.

“Between you and us, colonel,” Matt says, “we’re working to gather evidence that Mr Castle was deliberately targeted in the Central Park massacre, by someone who knew him from his time in the military. Was there anyone who might have held a grudge against him?”

“Frank’s a tough son of a bitch, but people respected him,” Schoonover says. Over by the pictures, Karen hisses in a breath and her pulse picks up 10 beats.

“What about this guy?” she asks.

“He was loyal,” Schoonover says. “Got his face half-blown off, but when he was discharged, came back and asked me if he could keep on serving.”

“Well,” says Karen, tension in her voice, “I think that’s all we need, right, Matt?”

Matt stands, flicking his cane open. He’s not sure what Karen’s seen, but he can tell she needs to get out and soon. And then there is the familiar click of a pistol being cocked.

“I think not,” says Schoonover. Says, Matt realises with sudden clarity, the Blacksmith.

He keeps on playing the blind lawyer, biding his time. “No, Karen’s right, we’ve got all we need,” he agrees, stepping forward and holding out his hand as though he hasn’t heard the pistol. Schoonover has a prosthetic right arm, Matt remembers, and it’s his left holding the gun.

“Mr Murdock, I’m pointing a weapon at you and your _colleague_ ,” Schoonover says, but Matt’s movement forward has got him within range and he drops the cane, grabs the gun and twists it out of Schoonover’s hand in one quick movement, tossing it behind him. It hits the sofa and he is aware of Karen scrambling to pick it up.

Schoonover lets out a roar of anger, but Matt keeps moving in on the man’s left side. He’s big, and well-built, but out of shape and taken by surprise and it’s an easy enough task to jerk his left arm back with a satisfying, sickening crack as the shoulder dislocates. Matt follows up with a sweeping kick to the colonel’s left leg which brings him to his knees, and finishes by swiftly knocking him out on the edge of the desk.

Karen has got the gun in her hands now and is pointing it at Schoonover’s prone figure.

“What now?” she asks, her voice high and scared but under control.

“We get out,” Matt says. “I’m pretty sure he’s the Blacksmith, but we don’t have the evidence to call the cops. Take his gun and let’s go before he wakes up.” He retrieves his cane and adjusts his glasses. “Tomorrow we go to Blake Tower. If we’re right, Schoonover and his guys will be after us.”

He takes her hand, and she grips his hard. “Okay.”

They are heading out down the driveway when there’s the roar of an engine, the squeal of tires as someone takes the corner too fast, and the screech of brakes as a car pulls up outside the house. Matt pulls Karen out of the way and readies himself for whatever’s next.

What happens next happens quickly. The car door bursts open and a man bursts out. Beside him, Karen first whispers, then screams, “Frank?”

Frank Castle smells of blood and cordite and metal, but he’s not frantic, just angry. “Karen? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Schoonover …” she says, “Schoonover’s the Blacksmith.”

“Why d’you think I’m here?” Castle is carrying two rifles, wearing some kind of body armour.  “Get out, Karen.”

“If you’re expecting a fight,” says Matt, “he’s out cold.”

“I’m done with your advice, _counsellor_ ,” Castle retorts, sharp and brutal.

“I’m not going to stop you.”

“Like you could,” says Castle, scorn in his tone. He hefts the rifle he’s holding, shifts the one on his back so it’s in a better position.

“Done it before, could do it again,” Matt says, dropping his voice into what he’s come to think of as Daredevil’s. “Not tonight, Frank. He deserves it. You deserve closure.”

Castle snorts. “Hell. _Red_. Later, we’re talking about this. Get Karen outta here. Take my car, go on.”

Matt grins at him, and pushes Karen towards the car, heading to the passenger side himself as Castle kicks down Schoonover’s front door. The first shots ring out as Karen reverses the car out of the driveway.

It’s late when their train pulls into Penn and Matt can tell from her yawns Karen is as exhausted as he feels. The day has stretched on and on.

They go back to Matt’s apartment and Karen seems to be about to collapse on the couch, so Matt scoops her up – the bruises he sustained in the fight with Castle on the ship, only 24 hours previously, protesting – and puts her down on his bed. Carefully he pulls off her shoes, helps her off with her coat, and pulls the cover over her fully-dressed.

It’s only a few minutes later, with his suit and shirt discarded on the floor, that he joins her. Already more than half-asleep, Karen throws an arm across him and moves closer in.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I thought I was cool with Daredevil, but I thought maybe all the stuff that comes with it, maybe that was too much."_
> 
> The aftermath of what went before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief epilogue, to tie things up, and produce a tentative happy-ish ending. Thank you for reading!

_Foggy. Foggy. Foggy._

Matt’s phone is insistent, but it takes him a while to surface from a dream he’s already forgotten to remember it’s in his suit pocket and he has to get up to find it.

“Foggy,” he says, taking it into the living room so he doesn’t disturb Karen.

“Thank God.” Foggy sounds relieved to hear him. “You guys okay?”

“We’re fine. Overslept. What time is it?”

“Eleven,” says Foggy. “Did you see Schoonover?”

“Briefly.”

“Was he … alive, when you left?”

“Yes,” Matt says, knowing what’s coming next.

“Well, he’s not now,” Foggy says. “He’s very, very dead. All over the news. And guess who they’re pinning it on, because he was spotted getting away in Schoonover’s own car?”

“Frank Castle,” Matt tells him. “Our paths crossed.”

Foggy makes a noise that could be disapproval. “You didn’t try to stop him, say, murdering Schoonover?”

“Schoonover pulled a gun on us,” Matt says, “on me and Karen. He was the Blacksmith. I wasn’t going to try and stop Castle.”

“What happened to thou shalt not kill?” Foggy asks, wearily.

“Tell that to the man who killed Frank Castle’s wife and kids,” Matt snaps out. “The case is closed. Let’s move on.”

A pause, then a sigh.

“Yeah. Let’s move on. See you in the office tomorrow?”

“We’ll be there,” Matt says, and hangs up.

Karen is stirring when he goes back into the bedroom, and he smooths a hand over her shoulder. “Shhh, don’t get up. Sleep well?”

“Like a log,” Karen says, as he gets back into bed and lies back into the pillows. She tucks herself along his side. “This all right?”

“Better than all right.” Matt trails his fingers down her arm. “I thought for a bit, after the trial, that I’d lost you. That I’d blown it all, because of … because of Elektra, and Stick and everything.”

“I’m not going to lie,” Karen says, “I wasn’t sure. I thought I was cool with Daredevil, but I thought maybe all the stuff that comes with it, maybe that was too much.”

“And is it?” Matt asks, turning on to his side so he can feel her breath close to his mouth.

“Haven’t decided,” Karen says. “But I’m willing to risk it.” She cups his cheek, then kisses it, and follows a trail to his lips. Her tongue presses into them, and he responds; tasting her again as though it’s the first time.

Karen pushes her hands up under his t-shirt, running her hands over his skin and his scars and then tugging it off over his head. She is still dressed in last night’s blouse and skirt, but the blouse has buttons and is easily disposed of. Matt finds her bra, dipping his fingers inside to caress her hardening nipples before following the material around to the clasp at the back and freeing her breasts.

Under his jogging pants he’s stiffening already. He rolls Karen’s skirt over her backside and slips a hand inside her panties, and she moves against it, the friction making her slick and warm around his fingers.

Somehow they get rid of the rest of their clothes. With his free hand Matt digs a condom out of his bedside drawer and gives it to Karen, who rolls it over his cock with agonising tenderness and then encourages him to enter her. He moves, moves in her heat; her hand is between them, alternately caressing his balls and her clit and the sensation is exquisite.

He comes with a shudder and with his nose buried in her neck, surrounded by her scent. Karen follows him a moment later, his name on her lips.

They spend most of the rest of the day in bed, apart from a foray out to find food, both of them eager to forget the past weeks and start again from the moment Karen had invited Matt into her apartment.

The next morning they go into the office hand-in-hand. Foggy is already there and they sit in the conference room and have a long, honest conversation about the way forward, which ends in a collective hug and a commitment to spend the evening in Josie’s.

“For a while,” Foggy says at the end of the talk, “I was seriously considering walking away from this. After the Castle trial.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Matt fiddles with his glasses, which he’d taken off on arrival at the office. “This … this is as important, for me, as Daredevil. This firm, and you, and Karen. The clients will come back.”

Karen had gone out to answer the phone, and she puts it down now and says, “the clients _are_ coming back. We’ve one coming in at 11.30am. Nelson & Murdock is officially back in business.”

Matt holds out his fist, and after a short pause, Foggy taps it.

“Let’s get to work, then,” he says.

And they do.


End file.
